


Amora

by that_creative_girl



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Northmen: A Viking Saga (2014), Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anger, Betrayal, Brotherhood, Christianity, Death, Deception, Genocide, Graphic Scenes, Grief, Hate, Love, Maid, Monastery, Multi, Norse, Parenthood, Rape, Revenge, Romance, Royalty, Sex, Sorrow, Viking Age, Vikings, War, affair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_creative_girl/pseuds/that_creative_girl
Summary: In 700-1150AD, the historical era of the invasion of the Vikings towards the islands in Scandinavia, the wind of fate attracts two different and rejected cornerstones from enemy kingdoms. In the midst of blood, sweat and tears, love compels them to abnegate hate and revenge for the sake of their beloved, Amora. (Viking historical AU based on real-life events)
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Heather, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Stoick the Vast, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Valka, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Snotlout Jorgenson, Stoick the Vast/Valka
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. The Cornerstones; Part 1

**June 3, 793AD**

"Take your stance, attack!"

Ansgar swung his sword at both horizontal cardinal directions, striking against that of his opponent, Admiral Ida. He grunted as they both lashed at each other, with swords battling for ascendance. A couple of mild clashes sent the weapon in the admiral's grip, flying across the opposite end of the ring, giving him the victoriously triumphing edge as he raised his sword to his throat, ecstatic at his opponent's defeat.

Astrid scoffed, unimpressed by her brother's unearned victory. "Ida gave him the win because Father is in the ring."

"Don't wound his pride, victory is all he lives for." She hadn't noticed Arick, the youngest of her three older brothers, join her at the ring as the uninvited audience of Ansgar's training. The usual goblet of ale in his arm, to which he'd labelled, 'The breakfast of champions.'

"Father is in the ring, he would not be pleased about this"

"His sole interest is his favourite son. Ansgar's first win should keep his focus away."

"Father has no favourites. It is expected to take an interest in the only child content to bend to his inflicting expectations." Astrid's gaze was now on the goblet, watching him gulp more of the ale. "Why do you refuse father's wishes?"

"Do you not do the same? I can tell how desperate my sister wants to be in my brother's place, fighting with all her might, not giving Ida the chance to give her an undeserved victory with pity on father's presence."

Astrid was startled by her brother's cognizance of her desire to be a warrior for the Northumbrian kingdom, the best that had ever been engendered from Bamburgh. A desire that was often suppressed by the norms and rigorous restrictions placed, not just on her gender, but her position as royalty.

The kingdom of Northumbria, after the raids on the Romans in the early fifth century, and wars weighed by King Aurthur, had settled in the lands given to them by the Britons, in Northeast England. Bamburgh, being amongst the three royal palaces that included Yeavering and Mælmin was the most prominent in the dynasty of Bernicia.

Holding so much power from the Anglo-Saxon warlords to King Oswald and the Exordium of Christianity and monasteries, Bamburgh had the most vigorous line of valiant kings, all in a non-monarchical thread that led to her father, King Athelred. Her father ruled the northern sea and kingdom of Northumbria alongside her mother, Queen Amora. Astrid was the youngest and the only female child, amongst her brothers, Ansgar, Annar and Arick, gaining the crowning denomination as the princess of Bamburgh.

The village of Bamburgh and its palace reposed at the mouth of the sea, along with the minuscule tidal island of Lindisfarne, just a few miles away. Although the presence of the monasteries and the spread of Christianity had ceased violence and battles between warlords, the vulnerability of Bamburgh required training and defence systems as a necessity against possible attacks. This was the area that seemed to get Astrid's attention the most, right from her fascination with wooden axes and swords her brothers often got as gifts from childhood.

On the other hand, she'd gotten wooden dolls, dollhouses, and long hours at the mirror due to her mother's love for grooming her hair. The queen, being the image of beauty itself, felt the need to enhance that of her daughter's in an effort to make her germane in society. Astrid had no use for comeliness and lived her life in envy of her brothers, specifically the oldest, Ansgar. Ansgar was the chosen one, the one to commence an incipient threat of monarchy, as her father intended to keep their family in the line of royalty. He'd been training with Ida from the age of twelve, with Astrid not missing the chance to watch him in the shadows. She studied his movements, Ida's instructions, his errors and the only win he'd gotten against Ida for eight years of his training.

Ida caught her in the shadows at twelve, discovering her passion, but unlike her father, he took initiative and offered to train her in the sidelines, jeopardizing the penalization of contravening the laws of the king, putting his life at risk. She'd been training with him for just three years, but somehow had more progress than all her brothers at fifteen. Ansgar was twenty, yet to be inducted as a plenarily trained fyrd, to stand among the royal huscarls from all Northumbrian kingdoms during battles. She wanted to be a fyrd, to one day stand at the frontline, leading triumphs and return home with her name in the chants of men.

It was forbidden for women to go to war. Her mother said they served a different purpose, a purpose she did not want for herself. She was a princess, the fairest in both dynasties. Her beauty magnetized kings and princes, even before she turned thirteen. King Aethelred would often order for her presence whenever they came, her mother brushed her long golden hair, the crown of her beauty. She despised the brushes, the corsets, the dresses. She despised the kings and princes. Most of all, she despised the fear that her mother had for her father, the fear she would forever fight to shield herself against.

"For how long have you known?"

"Three years?"

"You never told father."

"Would that make me a better fighter?"

The wisdom of Arick was not far beneath the surface as her father always claimed. He was just like their mother, whose wisdom and opinions were wasted on her father's arrogance and insolence. It was so facile to underrate his knowledge due to his drinking habit, but it was his greatest advantage over those who undermined his role as a prince of Bamburgh, including their father.

"So why did you not tell father? Do you respect my interest now?"

Arik set the goblet on a stone, his eyes, red from the impact of the drink. "You are not the only one born different, sister. I should be the most understanding of your ardency."

Astrid suddenly found herself intrigued with his validation on her progress training with Ida, with the goal to be a better warrior than Ansgar. "You have visually examined me train, do you think there is a remote chance that father would consider that I become a fyrd?"

"Father has a mind of his own, so I have no answer to your question."

She sighed in exasperation, frustrated by the weight of her condition and position. "Why, brother? Why do I seek this when the possibilities are vain?"

"You have no use for father's validation and consent, sister. I have watched you fight. You are a natural-born warrior. You are worth far more than the gold and alliance promised by kings for your hand in marriage. It is not about your strength, It is your courage, a virtue that I wish mother possessed."

"Courage like Hadassah's?"

"Just like Hadassah."

"Mother is afraid. Father would have her exiled for treachery."

"And Ida? Father would have him executed if he discovered you're training with him. Ida chose courage, I hope mother can do the same, for you."

"Whenever you arrive from the monastery, It is all scrolls and wise words from you."

"You must join me on my next visit."

Astrid smiled, giving him a gentle nudge. "Ic þancie þē"

"Wēlcumen"

* * *

**June 4, 793AD**

"And Laban had two daughters: the name of the elder _was_ Leah, and the name of the younger _was_ Rachel. Leah _was_ tender eyed, but Rachel was beautiful and well favoured. And Jacob loved Rachel; and said, 'I will serve thee seven years for Rachel, thy younger daughter.'"

"Seven years? Even a thrall would never go through such humiliation for a woman."

"This is the reason why I am curious. They are so different. They verbalize so highly of this love, but my Father claims it's an act to gain sympathy."

"Their monasteries are the wealthiest without labour or trade. They deceive the feeble minds of people with all these scrolls and stories to feed their wealth. There is no subsistence of love." Freystein examined the scrolls, none of which was able to capture his notion in the practice of the Saxons and Anglo-Saxons, the Britons and workers, the religion they had termed as Christianity.

Herrick gave a cold glare towards his friend over his previous utterances. "We know nothing about their practices, scrolls are not enough to understand the reason behind the impact of the religion. My mother believed in it, even when she had nothing to offer to the monasteries."

"Your mother was not a Viking Herrick, but you are. You are Norse and Jarl. Óðinn is the king of the Æsir, the ruler of Asgard, and the All-Father. We live in stoutheartedness and potency, seeking aeonian rest within the gates of Valhalla. These scrolls should not raise doubt about our deities, and neither should Helga."

Freystein finally succeeded in pulling his attention from the scroll he kept reading to himself in silence. "Do not involve Helga in this. She has no part in my interest in this, so do not make her the next target of treason."

"Do you not think it's a little too late for that?"

Herrick felt a wave of fear grip him, understanding fully well of the consequences of treason and the fact that he'd been a victim his whole life. "What do you mean? Helga is being incriminated of treason?! Her voyage due south was for the purport of trade, she is additionally a Viking, like the rest of us."

"Helga is a Saxon. Your father attested this after the dent in the first raid. Apparently, she was the spy that tipped off information about our orchestrations. My father kept talking about her execution when he returned from the council meeting."

Freystein got slammed hard to the wall as Herrick prehended the hem of his tunic, his eyes fierce, and seeking for answers. "Why did you not tell me of this?!"

"I was told to keep it away from you. Helga would be executed on your father's coronation." He struggled with his speech, loss of breath from the pressure on his throat. "You are my friend, Herrick. I found out about this last night when my father came home drunk. I had intended to tell you from the start."

Herrick was a descendant of the Volsung clan, residing in Berk, a remote island in Kvenland, along the eastern coast of the Baltic sea. Berk was an island of Norse and Estonian men who shared kindred cultures and way of life, with his family bloodline in power for preceding generations. His Father, Jarl Surtr Haddock the next in line to the throne had his grand coronation on the way, alongside his first led official raid, specifically targeted towards Lindisfarne monastery in Northumberland. He was to go on the raid mission to prove his position as the next Chief of Berk and would be crowned only if the raid was prosperous. If otherwise, his coronation would be suspended, but with a second chance to be proven worthy.

Preparations for the war had been set for months, from the carving of ships to smithing of weaponry, Herrick had contributed his services as an apprentice to Gobber, the blacksmith of Berk, creating weapons towards the prosperity of his father's raid.

Vikings were an illogical breed of humans, the kind Herrick queried daily without answers. They were violent, raised for war, and gloried in war. The prosperity and strength of a Viking were sorely predicated on vigour and valiancy, the kind of bravery used to describe fools.

'Bravery is not about starting raids and wars for a self-imposed triumph, it about standing for what is right in the midst of opposition.' Helga always told him. Helga always told him. Bravery seemed a lot better reading about David and the giant of their enemies, or Gideon, a judge who fought for the liberation of his people. These were stories from the scrolls Helga often brought back from her voyages, stories from the same religion the Vikings detested and condemned so much. The religion his mother was expatriated for opting to believe in.

Helga was a mother to him, in the absence of his mother. She nurtured him as a child and was the only ray of sunshine growing up as the bastard son of his father, the result of the forbidden affair between a Jarl and a temple maiden. He'd always felt left out in the sidelines, abused and maltreated by his father's wife and her son, his half brother Sigmund. Helga was there to dry his tears, to help build his confidence whenever he felt worthless. She did not condemn him for being different, instead, she accoladed his competency to think differently, and to question the virtues of his people.

She had told him about the negative impact of the raids, and how it led to the death of many innocent people. He'd promised to be brave, to stop the raids, but he knew he had no power over that, not until he ascended the throne as the Chief of Berk, a position he had to battle with his half brother to obtain. Helga was the person closest to his heart, the one person he was afraid of losing.

He released his grip on Freystein, rushing to the scrolls in panic, and placing them in the wooden box that kept them out of the sight of his father or any other Viking.

"Helga would not be executed, not while I'm still alive."

"What is your plan to stop the execution? It the council's verdict, not just your father's."

"I do not care whose verdict it belongs to! They took my mother away from me, not again! This time, I can actually do something to stop it."

* * *

Herrick ambulated through the village square, passing a group of armed warriors marching to the ring, ships at the docks being loaded with weapons and flags set up for sail, all in preparation for the raid of Lindisfarne. He hadn't seen such effort put in a raid before, it revealed his father's desperation for victory and the crown. He walked past the customary stares of disdain and abnegation from both Karls and thralls, those who perpetually tinted their sights with the situation surrounding his birth. Seventeen years of living the life of an outcast caused him to harden up, especially when his grandfather hadn't injunctively authorized that he receive better treatment and reverence as royalty from the people of Berk, and neither had his father.

Dashing straight towards the great hall, he was determined, summing up the courage to speak to his father, overlooking the presence of any other member of the council. He had to face his father, as much as he despised being in his presence. It was for the life of Helga, the life of the one most precious to him. He valued her life more than that of his father, and could not fathom life without her.

Fortuity graced his side and the hall was vacuous, much to his surprise. The raid kept everyone diligent outside, leaving his father seated alone at a corner. He looked around for any trace of his grandfather, the last person he wanted to be involved in their conversation. With his nagging wife out of sight, Jarl Surtr was unusually silent, thoroughly engrossed in the centre of his attention, not even noticing Herrick's presence in the hall. Herrick moved in slow and light steps towards his father and noticed the item that kept him solemn, and to his uttermost shock.

It was his mother's shawl, her shawl as a temple maiden that other Vikings claimed she had utilized to lure him to bed.

For some grave reason, his father was still in possession of it, prehending it like it mirrored the presence of his mother. Herrick stood watching him in silence, wanting to feel pity at his desperate yearning for his mother, but it just sparked up the rage he had piled up for years upon the knowledge of the events that led to his birth and his mother's disappearance. The fact that his father claimed to be the bravest and most valiant Jarl, starting raids to prove his strength and bravery, but remained the biggest coward to Herrick for not standing up and defending the woman that he truly loved. He deserved the pain inflicted on him from her absence. Even after seventeen years, it felt good to know that his mother still had the potency over his noetic conceptions and emotions, the price of his cowardly actions towards the family he really wanted for himself.

"Father?"

The reflex response was to immediately hide the shawl within his fur cloak, but it was too late to conceal any secrets. He was fully aware that his father was deeply in love with his mother, and could deceive Jarl Magnus, his grandfather, and the rest of berk, but not his bastard son.

"Herrick! Shouldn't you be at the forge with Gobber? We require as many weapons as we can load to the ships, the lives of many Vikings are at stake."

"And the lives of the victims of the raid? It is a surprise assailment on a monastery. You do not require weapons for an opponent who has no interest in fighting back."

"Why are you here? It has been over three years since you came to me on your accord. Have you put your anger towards me aside?"

"Why father? Do you not deserve my anger?"

"Speak Herrick, or leave my presence at once!"

"I heard of Helga's execution. I know she is a Saxon, and that she was a spy against the precedent raid, but father…"

"Silence." Jarl Surtr shot in rage, but voice wavering. "You come up to me with such insolence for the first time in three whole years and for what? For an apostate and spy that has been sentenced by the council?!"

"I come before you in intercession for Helga's life, and I mean no arrogance Sire. You know how much she means to me, so I beseech of you, abate the weight of her tribulation. She can be exiled, but please, Father, spare her life. You did the same for mother and you…"

"How dare you, Herrick?! How dare you compare the life of your mother to that of that thrall? She is not worth the life of your mother!"

"What makes her different Father?! She has been a mother to me! She gave me the love and attention that you failed to give to me! Being the product of your past mistake and a dent in the royalty line meant nothing to me because of her presence!"

"You are a Viking, Herrick! Your strength should not rely on a woman! You should learn that now, or you would make the same mistake that I did!"

"Like the way you relied on that temple maiden? The way you have relied on her for seventeen years!"

Jarl Surtr stood up in an inclined rage, jaw clenched, and hands fisted, but with pain in his eyes. "I have let that Saxon feed you with lies, stories and hate towards me. I have watched you place her on higher importance than your people. I was silent because you saw your mother in her, but she didn't wrong me this time, but the whole of Berk. Your grandfather was ridiculed on the failure of the previous raid. The lives of many Vikings were lost and she has to pay with her life."

"Father.."

"Helga would be executed at my coronation, and you would be there to watch. You need to understand that Vikings stand together, and do not value the life of pagans over that of your people."

There was hope before. Just a tiny flicker against the wind. With the open eyes of a child with humility, Herrick reached out for avail, fingers extended. At that moment his father had a choice of kindness or cruelty, but it took no time at all for him to decide. How was his thinking so different from Herrick's? so alien? How is it that he saw Herrick's suffering and chose to make it all the worse?

Hate and enmity welled up in his heart, fury itself burning him up. "You are a coward, Father. You have always been a coward and a thousand triumphant raids would never be enough to veil your calibre of cowardice!"

Jarl Surtr lashed out with an intention to knock him cold to the ground, but stopped, his veined knuckles a few inches away from Herrick's face. "If you plot her escape on my return, you would have to face the wrath of the chief. You would lose your position as heir, as well as your identity in Berk. Do not let anyone know of your plea!"

"I do not have an Identity or position in Berk, so your words and threats mean nothing to me!"


	2. The Cornerstones; Part 2

"Helga? Where is her cell?!"

Herrick queried one of the armed sentinels who stood at the entrance of the brick-walled dungeon, built concretely to contain prisoners. He had never been here, knowing that his mother spent a month in a cell after his birth before she was exiled. It was not a place he wanted to visit knowing that she had spent weeks there, preparing for the execution after being condemned by the same council that was about to take the life of Helga.

"This way your highness." The sentinel led him towards Helga's cell where he noticed her curled up at a corner of the diminutive room, her hair down and apparel scruffed like she'd been in a brawl before thrown in. The old woman sat there, dominated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved on her worn face. He rushed towards her, gripping the bars of the iron doors, ordering for it to be open.

"Your highness, the chief instructed to keep the doors shut till her execution."

"I am here to talk to her, keep it open till the end of my visit!" Herrick yelled, drawing the attention of Helga, who noticed his presence immediately.

"I'm sorry your highness. Orders strictly from your father compel us to keep the bars shut upon your arrival." The sentinel insisted, igniting Herrick's rage.

"Do you want your head on a silver platter?!"

"Herrick, stop!" Helga obviated him from striking at the sentinel in vexation. "It is alright. The bars can be shut, it's not an obstruction to your visit. I am here, I can see and hear you."

Herrick turned back to Helga, his face buried in shame. "I am sorry. I am sorry, mother."

"Son, you should not be apologetic for a crime you are innocent of."

"I failed you, mother. I failed to get you out of this mess. I failed to prove your innocence. Please forgive me, mother."

"But I am not innocent, son. I was the reason for your grandfather's defeat. Those were my people, I had to do something to stop the raid."

"So why did you return to Berk?! You knew you would be executed if you were caught!"

"I returned to see you, Herrick. I needed to give you something."

"You returned to Berk because of me?! How would you get out of your trial mother?! Now that I failed to convince father to set you free, how would you elude the execution?!"

"I wouldn't. I would face the penalty. It's my burden, I would carry it."

"What about me, mother? Do you think I would bear watching you slaughtered before me?! When you chose death for my sake?!" Herrick gripped her hand, almost whispering into her ears to disclose his words from the sentinels. "I would get you out of here. I would prepare a ship after my father leaves for war, you would live mother, I promise you."

"No." She insisted, pulling her hand from his grip. "If you help me escape, everyone would know you are responsible for it. You would be punished and lose the throne."

"I do not want the throne! Let us leave Berk, flee to mother's home town, far away from this life. I do not belong here, mother."

"You belong here, Herrick. You are the first son of your father. Legitimate or not, you are the heir to the throne. I can not take that away from you, because I promised your mother to let you know of your identity and help you fight for your place."

"I have no interest in the throne! The people of Berk despise me, the chieftess and my brother would go lengths to get rid of me. I am the filthy beam in the eyes of my grandfather and my father lives in fear, not able to stand up for me."

"You do not need them on your side, Herrick, because you are not alone. The spirit of your mother, of her Deity, is with you. I would be with you."

"With your blood on my father's spear?!"

"I would still be with you, son, even in death. Jarl Surtr is your father, and he loves you so much. He is just as miserable as you are, and you are the only one keeping the memory of your mother. You can't take that away from him"

"Am I supposed to suffer and pay for a misery he brought upon himself? It is so difficult to love him. Whenever I look at him, all I see is pain and regret. Why should I be blamed for a crime I did not commit?"

Helga held the sides of his face with her hands. "It is not regret, but shame. He avoids your presence because he is ashamed. He is ashamed that he has been bound by the selfish and greedy nature of his father, he does not regret having you, Herrick."

"What should I do?" Tears streamed down his eyes, holding on to her hands like his life depended on it. "You are all I have, I can't lose you, mother. Life would mean nothing without you. I would be a walking corpse, desolate and vacuous, is that what you want for me? Is that the kind of life you want for me?"

"Herrick, I'm sorry." She reached out to wipe the tears beneath his eyes like she'd been doing his whole life. "I want to be beside you every single day. I want to watch you grow into the man your mother always said you would become. She wanted you to be the chief that would make the change, the one to end the violence and raids. It's the reason why you are so different."

"It is hard. It is going to be even harder without you."

"But not impossible. I have taught you true strength and bravery. I believe in the man you have become, I believe in the chief you would become, but I have to let you find your path to your destiny on your own. I have confidence in your knowledge of right from wrong, and I know you would choose the right path."

"What if I don't? What if I let hate and the anger from losing you, subdue me like my father? People change, I could change."

"I am sure that you would always choose the right path, for the sake of your mother." She gently pulled away and crawled further into the cell, Herrick watching her as she picked up a small wooden box at the right corner, and moved back to her spot. He held the bars, wishing there was no barrier between them.

"Here."

"Is this another souvenir from your voyage back home?" He tried to lighten the mood and for a while lift the heavy burden of her execution. "I have a trunk full of items, mother. Are these scrolls from the new testament you talked about?"

"It's something different." She opened the box and pulled out a little sheet scrolled up in a fabric that matched the colour of his mother's shawl. "It is a letter from your mother to you."

Herrick's eyes widened, ecstatic as he'd been in desperate need of any form of communication with his mother. "You met her?"

"No. I don't know where she is, if I did, I wouldn't fail to tell you about it." She slipped the scroll into his hand, closing his fist around it. "She wrote this before she left and asked me to give it to you when you turned twenty when leading the raids would become your sole responsibility. I hoped I would live long enough until the right time, but…"

He gripped her hands, the pain igniting at the fact that he always seemed to be helpless when he was to lose the people he loved. "How can I lead the whole of Berk, when I can't save the lives of the people I love the most?"

"You have a heart of gold, empathy, wisdom and bravery. Those are all you need to lead the people of Berk down the right path."

"What if I don't become Chief? What if the reigns are given to my brother, Sigmund?"

"It's your birthright, not your brother's."

"He is the legitimate son, born from both royal blood. Berk knows that and does not accept me as heir. What would be the purpose of sacrificing your life when we can escape your trial?!"

"You are the heir and the future chief after your father. Jarl Surtr is willing to fight till his last breath to make sure you succeed him, it's why he intercedes every single day to his father on your behalf, being a slave to his expectations and orders, just so you would be accepted in the royal line."

"How do you know of this, mother?"

"Because it was your mother's last wish when she birthed you. It's the only way he hopes to erase his guilt and shame, for the pain he caused you both."

Herrick shook his head in disbelief. "He really has a lot to learn."

"You can teach him." Helga gave a faint tired smile, signalling her current starvation and ill-treatment since her conviction. "If his pride wouldn't get in the way."

"Are you starving, mother? I would have some food ordered from the maids right now."

"I am a prisoner, Herrick. I am beneath the position of the maids to request for their service, just let me be, I would be strong."

"Well, I am Jarl and the heir, and you are my mother. You would be granted their immediate service upon my orders."

Helga smiled again, this time with full strength and glee, running her fingers through his long auburn locks. He caught her gaze after giving orders to the guard on her frequent meal service, even as a prisoner, but unable to return the smile, knowing his time on earth with her was gravely shortened.

"What makes you so happy, even in the face of death?"

"You called yourself Jarl and the heir." Her smile never faded, even upon the knoledge of her close contact with death.

"I did."

"You have accepted your identity, Herrick, now never forget it. In the midst of trials and pain caused by those around you, always remember who you are, stand for what is right, and always remember that you are never alone."

"Whatever happens to me, please forgive your father. Do not harbour hate and anger, because you would make erratic decisions that could affect your future."

"You might lose me, but you would find love again, a different kind of love. Whoever she is, whatever her background might be, learn from your father's mistakes and fight for her. Do not make her go through the same pain and misery your father caused your mother."

"My father would never even let me close to a temple maiden or a non-Viking girl."

"He has no control over fate, and neither do you."

Herrick leaned into her hand, another stream of tears rolling down his eyes. This time she didn't stop him or wipe them off, instead, she held on and wept with him.

"I love you, Mother."

"I love you too, Son."

* * *

**June 8, 793AD**

"Your visit to the monastery took longer than notionally theorized, you were absent for Ansgar's official induction as a fyrd. Your presence was requested by him, but you were nowhere to be found."

"I apologise, my lord, but I was not apprised of the sudden induction. Was it not settled to be in a month? why then was he inducted today?"

Astrid watched her mother, Queen Amora sit at his feet, next to the footstool of the throne. Right from her childhood, she'd always wondered why she always left the throne of the queen, her rightful place to sit at the foot of her father, stroking his feet in a way that revolted anger on the pretence between the relationship of her parents.

Eavesdropping on the members of her family brought her to the realization of the hidden secrets beneath all the facade, especially with her parents. She knew of her father's constant affairs with the chambermaids of the palace and the fact that her mother was aware of it, but chose to be silent. She'd once watched him force himself on her personal maid, at the fragile age of sixteen. Her mother silenced her cry with a threat that drove her out of the palace.

"Your frequent visits to the monastery creates an interest in the reason behind them. Is your relationship with your father mended? How is he faring with the other monks?"

He stroked her hair with his right hand, holding his sceptre with his left.

"He is faring well, blessed by his Deity. He sends his greetings and blessings."

Lies.

Admira Ida had been assigned to be the queen's body sentinel for protection on her visits to the monastery. Queen Amora was a descendant of Monk Aidan, the german monk, appointed by King Oswald to commence the monastery at Lindisfarne. Her grandfather, Monk Altfrid served as the next in line after a long effort of fighting the tradition of their lineage. Her grandfather had intended to live a normal life with the woman he loved but conformed to the monastery after her death while giving birth to Queen Amora. The lineage of Aidan was the most venerated monks in the whole of Northumbrian kingdoms, and marrying into the lineage would give him a higher label, and pedestal than other Northumbrian kings. It was the only reason for the arranged marriage between her parents.

Although they claimed to be in love, with evidence of twenty-one years in marriage and four children, Astrid was aware of the concealed truth. Queen Amora had been in a relationship with Admiral Ida before she was brought to the king and into royalty. They both grew up in Lindisfarne monastery, with his ambition to be a scribe in the past. His love for her mother cost him his position at the monastery before moving to the palace to train as a fyrd.

They couldn't fight back the weight of the king's proposal, but at the same time could not hold back their love for each other. Ida still stood in the sidelines as a protector, loving her children like they were his, and being more of a father to Astrid than the king himself. Ida and her mother had kept up a secret affair for so long, to the extent that she doubted her paternity being the last and unwanted child of her mother.

Her frequent visits to the Lindisfarne monastery was her excuse for meeting up privately with Ida, more so after his appointment as her personal sentinel. Her mother told numerous lies to cover their tracks, making the king completely oblivious to the happenings behind him. He was not a saint either, his affairs served as a justification to her mother's betrayal and their endless pretence was infuriating.

"He is ready. Northumbrian kings have produced heirs, warlords and valiant successors. Bamburgh awaited it's produce, so I offered it to them."

"What plans do you have for his siblings?"

"An order has been sent to the Admiral to intensify the weight of training on Annar and Arick. Annar has made credible advancements, but Arick is going on the path that could put this family to shame."

Blasphemy. Arick was the wisest of all the members of the royal household. He had an admirable passion for knowledge, learning more about history of the Northumbrian kingdoms and virtues of the Christianity religion. He knew a lot about the human mind and was fully invested in his decision to be a scribe at the monastery, but that was completely against the wishes of the king, tagging him the weak link in the royal line.

Arick and Astrid were on the rebel side, and seemed to be the only ones that understood their differences, and also faced rejection and discrimination on the basis of their preferences. She was usually the next subject of their discussion after Arick, so she hid in the shadows of the hall to listen to their complaints about her.

"I humbly request that you give him another chance, your majesty. He would soon come to understand his responsibility, I would talk to him again."

"Meanwhile Astrid would be betrothed to Prince Eardwulf upon their visit tomorrow at noon. She would be married into the Mælmin kingdom once she turns sixteen, they are the wealthiest and greatest allies and our best chance."

"Sixteen? You promised you wouldn't give her away till she turned eighteen. Don't you think she needs to learn more about being a queen? Please give her a few more years."

Astrid's hands curled in a fist, fuming with rage at the one thing she'd dreaded the most her whole life. A large fraction of the pain was from the fact that her mother had no guts to stand up for her. She didn't want to be married into another kingdom, she didn't want to be queen, to be like her mother. She wanted to be a fyrd and her mother was aware of it but chose to do nothing about it. Her mother just kept going in circles and bringing up excuses to push her father's plans of marrying her off at such a young age.

"It's time to put her beauty to good use, she's better off ruling a kingdom than wasting away in this palace."

Was that all her father saw in her? Was that all she was worth to Bamburgh? Why should her brothers be trained to be leaders, while she's sent to live the kind of life her mother lived in the palace? There had been news of suspicious and unusual raids throughout the south coast of the baltic sea, and strong defence was vigorously needed at those times. She wanted to be there for her kingdom, to be at the frontline, fighting for the safety of her people, why should she be denied that for the reason of being a woman?

"Please, give her two more years with us, with me. I don't want to lose my daughter too soon. It would serve as time to groom her to be a queen that Mælmin would be proud of."

"Alright, my queen, but the betrothal still stands. She would be married to Prince Eardwulf after her eighteenth birthday."

Tears rolled down the corner of her eyes once she made eye contact with her mother. This was another chance to use her position as the queen to fight for the sake and choices of her children, but she continued to be silent, secretive and submissive to every order of her father, even when she completely objected to it.

Astrid left the royal hall and raced towards her bedroom in the castle, dragging the end of her robe trailing behind, tears blurring her vision. If being a man was all it took to convince her father that she could be just as good as her brothers in the war, she was willing to do it.

Bursting into her bedroom, she sat at the mirror, the place she was forced to spend most of her time at and stared at her reflection, her tears rolling down to her rosy cheeks. She was beautiful. Her mother always told her that her beauty would be the source of her happiness, but it seemed to be the source of her pain. Picking up the razor in her drawer, she held the end of her beautiful golden locks and slashed through it, a sizably voluminous chunk sliding down her shoulders to the ground. For every tear that fell, she cut another handful, struggling to elude the pain and cage of her comeliness.

"Astrid! What are you doing to yourself?!" Her mother, who seemed to have followed her, rushed in screaming at the sight of 'the crown of her beauty' thrown to the ground. "Astrid! Stop it!"

"Unhand me, mother! You have chosen the same path that father has! Then you come to me like a saint and pretend to be on my side?!"

"I am on your side, you are my daughter!"

"And you are my mother! You should fight for me! You should not sell me into a life that you dread yourself!"

"My child, please calm down, hand me the razor."

"What are you more concerned about?! My future?! or my hair?!"

"I am concerned about you!"

"I don't want to be like you, mother!"

"And I don't want you to be like me! You can never be like me because you are different! You are so much stronger and braver, Astrid! You do not need to cut your hair or be a man to prove that." Her mother broke down into tears, the only persuasion to release the razor to her.

"You told father I could get married at eighteen."

"Because I am weak Astrid, it's the only way I know how to fight for you, the only way to protect you. I stopped him from marrying you off at sixteen, do you not think I have a plan when you are eighteen?"

"I have never halted your training session with Ida, and have deviated your father countless times from any suspicions he's had about it. It's because I do support you, but this is not a fight I can win, it's not a fight I can win by being like you."

"What is father's worst verdict if he learns about my personal training with Ida?"

"You would be married in a month, right after Ida's execution." Her mother placed both hands on the sides of her face, wiping the tears beneath her eyes with her thumb. "Everything I do, I do it for you, Astrid. I do it for your freedom, so don't think for a day that you have to change who you are to be who you want to be. You are beautiful, but beauty doesn't mean weakness, it doesn't mean silence and it doesn't mean submission. If you can't learn that from my actions, please, learn it from my words."

"Please forgive me, mother, forgive me for doubting your love for me." Astrid buried her face into her mother's shoulders, wrapping her hands around her waist. "I didn't understand your intentions, I'm so sorry."

"Whatever emotions or anger you have towards me or anyone, don't take it out by hurting yourself or cutting your hair." She ran her fingers through the short locks that looked shaggy from the unplanned haircut. "This does not make you any less of a woman or more of a man."

"Father would not be pleased with it, but that was my intention, to hurt him like he keeps hurting me."

"Justice is not hurting yourself in hopes of hurting someone else. One day, your father is going to see in you what Ida and I see, something more than being sold to some kingdom for wealth."

"And Arick."

"Arick?"

"He's known about it for three years now."

"I would not pretend to be in awe of it. Arick is wise beyond his years, he could make a better leader than Ansgar if your father saw through valiancy. I also support his passion, just like I do to yours."

"I love you, mother. I know I do not let out my emotions too often, but I really do."

Queen Amora smiled and held her tighter, placing a kiss in her hair. " I love you too, my little warrior."

Their rare emotional moment was interrupted by the panicked entrance of Admiral Ida, who never entered Astrid's bedroom without the permission of the princess.

"Queen Amora, bad news has spread throughout the palace, your father might be in danger!"

Her mother broke away from the hug immediately, also switching to a tensed state at Ida's words. "What happened to my father?!"

"The monastery at Lindisfarne is under siege. The monks sent a letter to the palace pleading for help, your father might be in danger."

"We must leave the palace at once! I have to see my father!"

"But your majesty, I have rounded up men and set them on a ship to the coast, it would be dangerous if you visit the monastery at this time."

"I am going to see my father! You have the option of going with me, or watching me go set assail alone!"

Astrid immediately gripped her mother's arm. "Let me go with you, mother. I could serve as extra protection for your safety."

"You stay back in the palace, alright? I have Ida with me, I would be fine, and return once I get my father. Let's hurry Ida."

"Mother!" Astrid exclaimed, succeeding in capturing her mother's attention right before she vacated the room. "Be safe!"

"I would protect her, don't you worry." Ida's assurance eased her fear and tension, but also gave her too much hope, as she put all her trust in him.

"I would be back, Astrid, I promise."

* * *

Upon the deadly edge of a cliff that rose sheer from the jungle, towering ramparts of stone that glinted jade-blue and dull crimson in the rising sun, and curved away and away to east and west above the baltic sea. Herrick stood as still as the trees, not totally frozen, for just as their budded twigs moved so did his long hair. His eyes were closed. Tousled auburn locks whipped about his face; blown by air as fresh as any after a rainstorm.

After several deep breaths, he took in the view, from here the deep blue sea laid out like one of Helga's quilts. This was his favourite spot on the island, miles away from the village, a place that still possessed the natural scenery being untouched by the Vikings. He watched the sea breathe, her surface rising and falling with rhythmic ease. The waves became her pulse that day, the echo of the souls she kept safe in her cradle of long walks in nature were his treasure, his own hope for sanity from life in Berk.

It had been almost three days since his father's departure and he had spent most of it at Helga's cell. Spending nights sleeping like a prisoner meant nothing as long as he got to be with her. Helga's execution had not left his mind even for a second. It was a burden that was too heavy to bear. The failure or success of Jarl Surtr's raid would determine the span of her life and as much as he didn't want to lose Helga at a successful raid, he also did not want to lose his father to the failure of the raid either.

He glanced at the line where the sky met the sea, knowing that somewhere beyond the reef, his mother was alive, probably living with a new family, possibly thinking about him, and hopefully less miserable than he and his father. The ache of longing to be with her echoed through the very marrow of his bones. It was a chill wind trapped in the chambers of his heart. With every spare moment, his mind would rehearse a new letter to her. If she were here, Helga's life would definitely be spared, as even her absence still had a strong effect on his father.

The gruelling sound of the Gjallarhorn induced instant fear as his eyes widened and jaw dropped. His father was back from the war, and the horn was customarily the signal of victory. "Helga!"

He sprinted down the slope of the cliff and into the forest, towards the village, hoping that she hadn't been taken off to the square before his arrival to the dungeon. Why had he wandered off while expecting news on his father's raid? He was so distant from the usual arrival of ships at the dock and the horn also meant that his father was at the ring, calling for the presence of the people of Berk to celebrate their victory. Pure terror surged through his veins, icy daggers straight to the heart as he ran, even when his legs failed him, still holding onto the slightest hope of a change in the council's decision towards Helga.

His arrival to the dungeon was futile when he was informed of her absence. She'd been dragged off from her cell towards the ring, right at the sound of the horn, as instructed by his grandfather. He rushed down towards the battle ring but got slowed down by the crowd of Vikings with the same destination.

He moved slowly with the crowd, still panicking, scanning through the crowd for any sight of Helga, ignoring the murmurs of greetings and side comments from the villagers who noticed his presence amongst them.

"Brother!" The very last voice he'd expected or had an interest in paying his attention to, echoed behind him, a hard slap on his back followed. There was nothing he detested more than his half-brother's presence, most especially now that a burden was still hovering over him. Sigmund's words were the least of his problems and his concerns.

"Grandfather has requested our presence at the centre of the ring. I do hope you do not intend to wander towards the royal court, you shouldn't do any more damage to keep getting on his nerves."

"Where is Helga?!"

"Father did not tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Sigmund smirked, breaking through the shield of self-control that held Herrick back. He immediately grabbed his tunic, catching the attention of the villagers surrounding them. "Answer me! What is father hiding from me?!"

His smile faded into laughter, sorely for the purpose of triggering him to stain his attitude and the perception of the villagers towards him. The problem was, Helga was far more important than those misconceptions. "Tell me!"

"First let's obey grandfather's wishes, then I would tell you, or you get rid of me before our people. Maybe your punishment would reunite you with your mother!"

Sigmund was manipulative, his offensive words and deeds were all sent as bait to retrieve a reaction to paint him as the victim in the eyes of the people. Fighting him before them would not give him the information he so desperately needed so playing to his deceptive tune meant nothing as long as he found Helga.

Herrick followed him to the ring, both making an entrance that sent the crowd wild, making Herrick quiver in fear about the reason for the sudden summon into the same place where Helga was to be executed. He spotted his father seated beside the throne and his grandfather on it. The queen was next to his father, with his half-sister, Haleigh, rested on her mother's lap. All gazes towards their position in the ring, but without clarification of the purpose of their presence in the ring.

He returned his attention to Sigmund. "Now tell me, where is Helga?!"

"Patience, brother, in due time."

The gate opened and the crowd went wild again, igniting the level of Herrick's confusion towards the happenings around him. It all came to him at the sight preceding from the gates, Helga was dragged further into the ring by a sentinel, a dark bearded Viking dragged by another. His breath eluded him once he understood what it was all about. Helga was to be executed, but Jarl Surtr had conveniently excluded the fact that Herrick was the one chosen to execute her. It was the decision from his grandfather, one that his father was too cowardly to contradict or object.

"Do you understand now, brother?"

He ignored Sigmund, watching Helga tied to a log a few meters away from him, but at the same linear point, tears filling up his eyes immediately as they stared at each other, mother and son set apart as enemies. His grandfather knew that Herrick was different, he despised the fact Herrick was tagged the weak link in the family and had the intention to harden his heart by accumulating hate within him. Helga had made him promise not to let her death change him, but being assigned to take the life of his mother was grief too hard to bear.

A bow and arrow were handed to Herrick and Sigmund, each for the purpose of executing their assigned prisoner. His trembling hands unable to take hold of the bow, he noticed Sigmund point his arrow at his target without hesitation, eager to once again prove himself as the better son.

"Aim at your target!"

Herrick raised his weapon towards Helga, his hands visibly quivering as a result the searing pain that welled up within him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he did not for a second, move his glance from her. She looked almost lifeless but was still able to hold up a smile, making it even harder to attack her.

_**'Whatever happens to me, please forgive your father. Do not harbour hate and anger..'** _

"Attack!"

He wasn't strong enough to fight the pain, hatred, and grief. He just couldn't understand the cruelty of his family, and of his people. Was it fun watching Helga suffer? Did it fill their cups with cold malice? Did they get a buzz of power when she cried and begged for common human decency? It was unforgivable how they painted cruelty to be alright with twisted logic. All Helga gave was her undying love and loyalty and they abused it.

Was he angry? No. He was bitter, and that's worse. Anger lasts for a short span, but bitterness was a permanent scar.

Sigmund had already taken down his target with a strike and he watched the arrow pierce through the heart of the victim, raising a roar of praises from the watching crowd. Herrick stood there, still unable to take away the life of the one he loved the most.

"Do you intend to make a fool of yourself before Berk?" Sigmund scolded, more concerned with their grandfather's reaction to Herrick's hesitation.

"Herrick!"

Right before his decision to disobey his grandfather's orders and give up the test, Sigmund grabbed the weapon in a split second, and shot the arrow straight towards Helga, nailing her to the log she was attached to.

Herrick's eyes widened, gasping in shock as he watched Helga's blood spill through the hole engraved by the arrow, her breath leaving her by each second. He could feel it unravelling, the threads of every happy memory he could ever once recall, all but disarray of strings scattered about his feet.

The soreness of his heart, the numbness pounding his brain, the salty tears that flowed unchecked from his eyes, the sheer nothingness that now took hold of his soul threatened to engulf him entirely. His legs buckled, knees sinking into the sodden earth as he watched the smile fade, with her lids shutting slowly.

He cried until there was nothing left inside but a raw emptiness that nibbled at his insides like a hungry rat. His irises were threaded scarlet and his eyeballs hung heavy in their sockets. His whole body hung limp like each limb weighed twice as much as it had before and just moving it about was a slow, painful effort.

The sun still shone in the sky, but not for him, the birds sang in bursts of melody, but not for him, for him there was no beauty left in the world.

He gave one last glance at his father who didn't seem to care about his distress or the loss of Helga's life. Jarl Surtr just knelt before his father, ready to be crowned the new chief of Berk.


End file.
